


Alliances

by NothinToSeeHere



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Engport - Freeform, ScotFra - Freeform, poor baby england
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 04:53:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8608960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothinToSeeHere/pseuds/NothinToSeeHere
Summary: Arthur stumbles across his nemesis, Francis and brother, Allistor together in a compromising position, and lifelong friend Miguel (Portugal) is by his side in an instant. Much angst, and lots of fluff for the rarepair lovers!





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted as an anniversary present for an rp-buddy of mine on Tumblr~

Today was a surprisingly good day.

Arthur Kirkland, the typically grumpy, irritable Brit had for once, not awaken in a foul mood. On any given day Arthur found himself dreading the inevitable opening of his eyes; whether it be because the morning was cold and he was protected from the chill in the soft cocoon of his blankets, or because he knew the day would be filled with nuisances and unwanted company that he would have to subject himself to, Arthur simply did not like to wake up. In and of itself it was rare for the often cross Englishman to awake with not an ounce of regret in him for doing so, but it was even more odd to think he was in a fairly okay mood on the day of a world meeting. Every nation, whether they were full of sunshine like Antonio or quiet and composed like Kiku, loathed waking up on the morning of a meeting. As unlikely and unheard of as it was, here was Arthur, in the flesh and in a good mood on the morning of a meeting.

Perhaps the location of the meeting was the cause for this unexpected occurrence. It wasn’t the dreary streets of London that Arthur cared for like his own child, but rather Lisbon, the coastal capital city of Portugal, a dear friend of his.

Arthur and Miguel went back decades, centuries, a millennium, almost. They’d been dubbed the oldest alliance in European history, and among their colleagues, the old married couple, which might have been a bit of a stretch. They were arguably the closest that two nations could be, able to casually flirt and joke about their long history and past romantic relationship with each other as if it were nothing, a feat most nations failed to achieve with one another. While it had been decades still since the two had joined hands or locked lips, their bond remained undeniably impenetrable, something no political war could ever scratch the surface of. If asked, neither Arthur nor Miguel could give a substantial answer as to what could shake their bond, for it was too deep; it fell straight to the core of the earth, protected by layers upon layers of love and understanding for one another, emotions running through those layers like underground rivers. If forced to provide an answer, both would say they were confident that nothing could begin to ruin the connection they had, and they would be correct.

Now of course the pair in question didn’t simply sit around declaring their love and devotion to one another in the Shakespearian tongue that Arthur had come to master, in fact they barely even discussed their impressive friendship. Casual was a prominent word that came to mind when describing their dynamic, both as friends and as lovers. They simply understood each other, and it made for easy conversations, playful banter and a good amount of flirting (courtesy of Miguel, for the most part).

So perhaps it was the location of today’s world meeting that brought a light smile to Arthur’s face; the knowledge that he could quite easily drop by Miguel’s familiar seaside home and spend some quality time with a treasured friend understandably filled him with a comforting sense of joy. It wasn’t a white-hot joy that burned like the sun and traveled through his veins at unimaginable speeds, bringing a shining light into his eyes and forcing a smile to lips that usually frowned. No, it was a joy more at ease, one he might receive from finding time to relax in a bundle of blankets, a favored book in his hand and a warm cup of tea. It filled him with a warmth that thawed the arctic tundra within himself, bringing with it the conclusion that yes, today’s location was indeed the cause of his odd mood, and he had nothing bad to say about it. 

In the current moment, Arthur was returning to the conference room from the bathroom, having a good ten minutes to make his way through the extensive halls of the building. His footsteps created a quiet rhythmic sound as he walked along the grey carpeting that coated the floors, which went rather well with the silvery-white walls in his opinion. Miguel always did have quite the taste when it came to interior design, in fact it was something Arthur liked to tease him about; how much a princess he could be when it came to décor. Speaking of Miguel, it was odd that he had yet to see him, considering he was the host nation of today’s meeting. Arthur always made it a point to show up to meetings early, he was often among the first nations there. It wasn’t in Miguel’s nature to be late, really, but he wasn’t typically there an hour before he needed to be. Perhaps he was just setting up, Arthur thought. He didn’t concern himself with it, he was sure he would get a chance to talk to him before the meeting began.

He rounded the corner to the hallway which lead to the designated conference room, anticipation bubbling about in him as he prepared to step in and find Miguel. However, the moment his eyes locked on to what lay at the far end of the hall, his heart seemed to all but stop beating.

Francis.

As if his archrival of centuries showing up to ruin his mood wasn’t enough, it was what, or rather whom he was engaged with that shot a bullet straight through Arthur’s fragile heart.

His brother, the one and only, Allistor Kirkland.

Now, for as withdrawn and out of touch Arthur was in regards to the social aspect of his fellow nation’s lives, he wasn’t oblivious. Also, he was in close contact with Alfred (who knew everything about everyone it seemed), so he was forced to be aware of relationships that weren’t quite his business. He was well aware Francis and Allistor had taken a liking to each other some time ago, and Alfred had made it a point to inform Arthur that they had finally gotten together for real, about two and a half months ago, to be precise. The point is, Arthur had been aware of this arrangement, but until now, he hadn’t physically seen it for himself. He had been preparing himself for the inevitable moment to come, and frankly unassuming that it would affect him as greatly as it just did.

One might wonder why Arthur was bothered by this relationship, but to him it was simple enough for a child to understand. Francis was a man who he had relentlessly engaged in battle throughout every century of his long life and who, even with the diplomatic terms they were currently on, still fought. The rivalry between Francis and Arthur ran about as deep as the latter’s bond with Miguel; they would never stop competing, they would never stop putting each other down, pointing out flaws within the other and starting pointless arguments. Despite the decrease of real malice behind the insults thrown, both had never truly forgiven one another for the hell they had put themselves through, for the countless, devastating losses they had delivered each other. Arthur was also, inexplicably jealous of Francis; not as a country, but as a person. Mortals and nations alike swooned over him, he got all the attention in the world and was so skilled in returning the affections. The country of love was not a titled assigned to him, it was a title earned, and Arthur found himself wishing his reputation looked more like Francis’, rather than the dreary, isolated one he’d earned for himself. It was a complex and complicated relationship between the two of them, one that might not ever level out.

The same could be said for Allistor, someone who dared call Arthur his younger brother. He’d never once acted like a brother, and to be fair, Arthur wasn’t quite sure he’d earned that title for himself either. The younger of the two was still ridden with guilt after all he’d subjected the Scots to during his imperial rule over the world, hell, his brother was a walking guilt trip in and of himself. He didn’t blame Allistor for acting like such an ass towards him, it was only what he deserved. That didn’t mean it hurt him any less to know that of his three brothers, none he could truly call family. He was the odd one out, the power hungry dictator who put them through hell and back, and Arthur would never rid himself of that name. 

Both men had a positively connected history, after all Arthur had been a uniting force for them, driving them to work together to bring him down. Even with politics set aside, the both of them were quite the match. Both were flirts the highest degree, quite sexual in nature around those who allowed it, and passionate about anything and everything they cared for. They were nearly perfect for each other, in all honesty. Not even Arthur could deny that. But it was precisely what broke his heart.

His own brother loved his mortal enemy more than him.

Putting their perfection aside, he’d been a victim of their criticism and their weapons countless times before, so it was understandable that seeing them together like this caused Arthur a fair amount of pain.

In Arthur’s eyes, these were two men capable of sending him into a downward spiral of guilt, anger, jealousy and hatred with a single glance, barely having to lift a finger to cause Arthur to eat himself alive with his own emotions. To see them, together, connected rather intensely at the lips, no less, felt like a burning wound, one that was inflicted slowly with a lasting pain.

It figures, Arthur thought. This is why he was never in a good mood to begin with. If he was ever lucky enough to wake up in one, it would only be torn away from him quite violently later on. As of right now, his previously positive mood took a nose dive, dropping to the earth like a meteor would, igniting into flames as it fell and diminishing, simply ceasing to exist. All thoughts of how nice it would be to see Miguel were burned along with his mood, and he quietly trudged past the two objects of his destruction, careful not to make his presence known. The last thing he needed was them tag teaming against him again, joining forces to make him feel small and weak and helpless before a meeting.

With a heart that was rapidly descending towards the familiar dark abyss in which it would fall during the worst of times, he pushed open the large double doors of the polished conference room, the chaos of the nations around him fading into white noise the minute he stepped in. None of them mattered, his mind had zeroed in on what he’d just witnessed, and once his brain had flipped the self-destruct switch, there was no reverse button. He absentmindedly approached the seat in which he left his notes previously, failing to notice the young, rambunctious blonde country who had claimed the chair to the right. The action was returned, for Alfred was engaged in what looked to be a heated argument with Ivan and didn’t notice the Brit’s entrance just as the latter didn’t notice the other. Arthur pulled his chair back and sat himself down abruptly, chin resting atop his palm and face pulled into a tired and dim expression. Normally gleaming emerald eyes had lost the light they always held, even when in an awful mood they shone due to the brilliant shade of deep green they were; it was impossible for eyes such a color to lack any light. Alas, the usually vibrant, forest green irises were dull, along with everything about him at the current moment.

He wasn’t sure how he should be feeling, or even what he was feeling, because as far as he could tell right now he wasn’t feeling anything at all. He felt numb, to say the least. His heart was beating, but the only proof he had of that was that he hadn’t dropped dead in his seat. He couldn’t feel a pulse inside himself, he couldn’t feel any emotions. The only sense that seemed to be functioning properly was his sight, and even that was overridden with the image of those two; Allistor’s hand on those French hips, Francis’ on the former’s cheek, lips connecting feverishly in an intimate moment that left Arthur wondering why they had opted to do such a thing in public, let alone right outside of the world meeting. Knowing the both of them, it wasn’t particularly out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, Arthur was so busy running through memory after memory of the two of them tearing him down, treading over thoughts of how he wanted to so much to have a familial relationship with his brother, only to find him in love with the man who made him feel like he was worth nothing to the world. He was so caught up, in fact, that he failed to notice the presence of the nation that had been responsible for the smile he wore this morning.

“Arthur, amar! Olá,” came Miguel’s voice, a sound that normally would have brought an uncharacteristically bright smile to Arthur’s face. Presently, it drew no reaction from the Briton at all. He hadn’t heard it, in all honesty, it blended with the static of the background noise that Arthur was opting to cancel out.

While Arthur was oblivious, Miguel was instantly concerned for the wellbeing of his closest friend. Arthur never looked happy, per se, that was a given, but he knew this look too well. He’d known Arthur for centuries, he had plenty of time to study him, recognize the different tones of his voice and what they all meant, each and every one of his multiple expressions and the complex messages hidden within them. This one read emotional exhaustion, to put it bluntly. A dangerous one for Arthur to be wearing, Miguel recognized it from some of the Brit’s lowest points in life, those days when he wished his kingdom would fall for good, so he could put an end to the relentless pain life brought him. As worried and curious as Miguel quickly became, he knew better (after learning the hard way) not to make a scene. Arthur didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve for a reason, and even if he had it was common for him to vehemently deny whatever he didn’t want others to see, or insist they were reading him utterly wrong. To avoid upsetting Arthur further, Miguel opted for trying to get his attention as he normally would; if Arthur wanted him to know what was going on he would tell him.

“Olá, Arthur? Earth to Arthur,” he laughed, pulling the chair to the left of Arthur closer and taking a seat, waving a tanned hand in front of the blonde’s face. His new tactic seemed to catch Arthur’s attention, green eyes flickering over to meet irises of a similar hue. The Englishman seemed to relax upon recognizing the familiar face, setting his hand down on the table and sitting up straight, the bare minimum of a smirk crossing his lips. Miguel. Arthur could always count on him to bring a sense of relief without having to say a word. Had he not trusted the man more he would have faked a smile and greeted him much warmer than he was about to, but if he was going to let anyone know he was upset it was going to be Miguel. Besides, they knew each other too thoroughly for him to be able to hide it, Miguel would see right through him.

“Oh joy, you again,” Arthur spoke, rolling his eyes in a playful manner as he turned to cast Miguel a small smirk, to which the other pouted.

“Always so mean to me, amar,” said Miguel disapprovingly, casually stretching his arm across the back of Arthur’s chair, earning hardly any reaction from the Brit. It wasn’t a very out of the ordinary thing for him to do, there wasn’t much to react to in the first place.

“Perhaps if you didn’t whine about getting me in bed again so often I wouldn’t have to be,” Arthur countered without faltering, earning himself a quiet, offended gasp from the man beside him.

“You haven’t spoken to me in about a month, and this is how you treat me?” He whined, to which Arthur merely shrugged.

“Apparently,” the Brit replied, his voice lacking any traces of remorse. Messing with Miguel was a favored pastime of his, even if he had little to no motivation to be speaking to anyone at the current moment, but Miguel was always an exception. “I would be more kind, but I’m not feeling so well at the moment,” he added, not really needing to justify his sarcasm, but feeling he should inform Miguel anyway. He had a feeling the brunette had already noticed his diminished mood, there was no point in trying to keep it from him.

“So I’ve noticed,” Miguel nodded, confirming Arthur’s theory. It was dangerous how well they knew each other really, it was virtually impossible to lie or keep something from one another. Theoretically this should be a good thing, it would promise an honest relationship between them, but it did make pranks and gifts rather hard to hide on occasions. “What’s going on? Anyone I need to teach a lesson to?” Miguel asked, leaning back in his seat and surveying the room, bringing a small smile to Arthur’s lips. If there was one thing (among many) that he loved about Miguel, it was his protective demeanor. Arthur knew that if ever he had a problem or someone was truly bothering him, Miguel would either sit with him while he cried for hours on end or confront the person with utmost confidence, unafraid of explaining to them none too gently that he had a problem, and it was going to be fixed whether they liked it or not. It all depended on what Arthur told him, he would never take a matter into his own hands if the Brit didn’t ask him too, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to hold a subtle grudge against the person in question for some time. Arthur appreciated this greatly, for someone as lonely as him it was nice to know that Miguel would always be there for him in whatever way he needed.

Arthur was preparing to explain to Miguel what he’d seen in the hallway, but he didn’t need words, for the cause of his current heartbreak had just appeared. 

“Why don’t you ask those two bastards?” Arthur scoffed, turning his gaze towards Francis and Allistor, who had entered the conference room hand in hand, the latter looking a bit flustered at the obvious display of affection while the former seemed more than willing to show off his red-haired trophy. Miguel followed Arthur’s gaze to the pair in question, his heart sinking down into his stomach at what he saw. He didn’t need to ask any questions, he was more than aware of the history between the three of them; it had hurt Arthur enough when they had formed alliances, he couldn’t begin to imagine what this kind of relationship was putting him through.

Francis, always one to show off the object of his affection, caught Arthur’s glare, thinking nothing much of it. Had he known Arthur was in genuine pain he might not have smirked at him, but he was too far away to be able to read him properly, therefore oblivious to what the simple sight of him and Allistor was doing to him. So, he did indeed smirk rather cockily, nodding his head towards Allistor, as if Arthur hadn’t already seen him.

Arthur was never one to back down, the man had too much pride for the two words to even be in his vocabulary, but this was a battle he couldn’t win. Not because Francis had an advantage over him, but because he was sooner going to self-destruct rather than possess the ability to hold out this staring contest. His eyes plummeted down to the table where his hand balled into a shaky fist, tilting his head towards Miguel in a subtle attempt to ask for comfort, or for him to do something, anything.

Miguel didn’t need to be asked twice by Arthur for help, and he placed his hand over Arthur’s fist warmly, letting his thumb slowly run over the pale skin he had come to adore. As he did he turned his attention to Francis, shooting him a rather threatening look that clearly said ‘back off’ without any words being necessary, and Francis did just that, not particularly wanting to get into anything with Miguel, especially over Arthur. Needless to say, he didn’t want to acquire any injuries. Miguel, as nice of a guy as he was, was more than ready to provide him with some, if he pushed his luck too far. The way Miguel saw it, no one hurt Arthur, however indirectly it may be, without consequences, and Miguel was perfectly okay with making that as clear as day. Francis knew this better most and was smart enough not to engage, so he simply led Allistor to their seats and sat down, pointedly avoiding looking in the direction in which Arthur and Miguel were.

“You know I can break them up real easy for you, right?” Miguel suggested in a lighter tone, giving Arthur’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Or at least put a dent in their relationship. It would be a piece of cake,” he added, though without any real intention of doing that. He cared about Arthur more than he did himself, but he wasn’t going to necessarily stoop as low as that.

Arthur shook his head in response to Miguel, wishing he could muster up the will to smirk at him but failing to find the strength. Miguel’s hand over his was admittedly insanely comforting and he wished he could somehow explain this, but he simply lacked the energy to.

“How touching,” he murmured, intending for it to be a joke but the dead tone of his voice removing any amusement from it. Before Miguel had any chance to respond however, he spoke again, this time with more life to his voice, yet not in a positive way. He sounded an awful lot more distraught then he did just a second ago. “This is just what I need, you know? Two walking guilt trips suddenly falling in love. I wouldn’t be surprised if they starting teaming up against me again, either. Now wouldn’t that be lovely?” He spat, clearly hurt by the situation at hand. Miguel wished he had more time to comfort Arthur, unable to fathom what he was must have been going through. Arthur had a habit of tearing himself apart quicker than one could blink, and with this sudden and hard of a blow, it was only a matter of time before he was swallowed into the black hole of a depression that had been left decades in the past. Miguel was lucky enough to have gained Arthur’s trust, lucky enough to be allowed to know what was wrong with him and he now felt responsible to help, to take care of Arthur and let him know it would be alright, but before he could act on this Ludwig’s hand was on his shoulder, creating yet another unwanted interruption.

“We’re ready to start whenever you are,” came the German’s voice, signaling that the meeting was beginning and they needed the host country to kick it off. Miguel only nodded to him with a stressed sigh, nervously glancing back to Arthur.

Just as he thought, Arthur looked helpless, to say the least. Not in an outright desperate, pleading sort of way, but in a quiet, forced down way. He didn’t want others to see that he needed someone, Miguel in specific, with him for support, but he needed him to see it personally, and see it he did.

“I’m sorry,” murmured Miguel, giving Arthur’s hand another reassuring squeeze and flashing him an apologetic smile. Arthur knew there was nothing he could do to make him stay in his seat, he had a responsibility as the host to present the opening remarks and anything he had to offer first, and he wasn’t going to hold him back from that. He simply nodded and nodded his head towards the front of the room, silently telling him to hurry up. It wasn’t as if they were cutting off contact between each other for the rest of the meeting, he knew they’d be making faces at each other throughout the duration of the meeting, as they did every other time.

Arthur should have been relieved when Ludwig stood up to announce the ending of the meeting, he should have sighed happily as he collected his notes, pleased that his ears were no longer bleeding from the incessant idiocy and chaos that the rest of the nations often brought to the table. Yet again, today was proving to be an odd day, why stop now?

He wasn’t relieved this time around, to put it plainly. For one, he hadn’t necessarily been subjected to mindless chatter or been lectured angrily by nations with problems about how the world was, or wasn’t working. He should have been though, he always made sure to listen as avidly as possible, paying rapt attention even when it was foolish to do so. He was organized, over-prepared and tired of the ridiculousness of nations who didn’t bother to pay an ounce of attention during important discussions. This time around, he was one of those nations, and frankly, so was Miguel. The latter knew Arthur wouldn’t be able to pay an ounce of attention to what was happening in the real world, he was well aware that the poor Brit would either be on the brink of tears or simply basking in the heartbreak that had been delivered to him this morning. If he wasn’t going to be paying attention to the meeting in the first place, then there was no harm in distracting him, was there? Miguel didn’t think so, and that’s what he opted to do. After he gave his opening presentation Ludwig had taken the floor, much to the displeasure of the conference. He would be there for at least forty-five minutes, if not an entire hour, at the most, everyone knew it. It was simply factual, Ludwig was a talker when it came to policy, and he delivered nothing short of a lecture each and every meeting. As excruciating as this could be, no nation could deny Ludwig being the voice of reason in almost every conference, often putting an end to the chaos that ensued, a feat that no other nation really had the guts to take up. Miguel was glad he had Arthur to entertain him, for he would be among the many nations ripping their hair out by the end of Ludwig’s grueling, one-way speech. He took his seat, which was located just to the right of the head of the table, where he was required to be due to his hosting the conference. It was on the opposite side of the table from Arthur, allowing them an easy view of each other. As he sat he caught Arthur’s drifting gaze, raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement and shooting him a subtle smile, confident that Arthur wouldn’t ignore him.

Miguel’s assumptions were proven accurate as Arthur returned his gesture, not bothering to be as secretive as the other needed to be. He was sat next to Alfred after all, who with one glare would know not to call him out, and sweet Matthew to his right, who was far too quiet and considerate to point out his unfocused behavior. 

Miguel cast a quick glance up to the front of the room, making sure he wasn’t about to have his eardrums ripped from his skull by a harsh German voice. He concluded quickly that the coast was clear and allowed his gaze to travel back to Arthur, the two engaging in an unspoken, childish starting contest of some sort.

Arthur couldn’t help but smirk in amusement as Miguel quietly yet aimlessly felt around the area in which his papers were, appearing to be searching for a pen but refusing to break eye contact with the Brit. When he wanted, Miguel could be quite the entertainer, and Arthur found himself utterly thankful for it. His silly actions didn’t take away the pain that had tightened its hold on Arthur’s heart, nor did it remove the heartbreaking thoughts from his mind, yet it provided him with a much needed sense of ease, granted it was a small amount, but comforting nonetheless.

The point of his actions were not to find his pen, Miguel simply wanted to put a smile on Arthur’s face, however small or sarcastic it may be. As soon as he caught wind of the smirk on perfect lips his hand stopped in its movements, instead sliding down to his pocket. He glanced once again in Ludwig’s direction, then over to this left, eyes falling on his ever so oblivious brother. Miguel was the host nation, he’d surely been in for an earful if he was caught on his phone, God forbid, in the middle of a world meeting. But, true to his nature, Antonio was busy making googly eyes at the grumpier of the two Italian brothers, who seemed completely unaware of the idiotic smile being directed at him. So, with both threats seemingly distracted he swiftly pulled out his phone, shooting a text to Arthur:

See something you like?

Arthur had furrowed his brows in confusion as Miguel turned to stare of his lap, only to have his curiosity answered when his own phone buzzed in his pocket. He froze for a moment, silently cursing Miguel for causing his phone to go off, none too quietly, either. It seemed no one of importance had noticed, so he subtly fished his phone from his pocket, only to meet the eyes of a curious American, one eyebrow raised at his elder’s misbehavior.

Arthur shook his head slightly to silence Alfred before he spoke, silently pleading with him not to say anything. Ever the child Alfred only shrugged, turning his attention back to the front with weary eyes. Arthur pressed the home button on his phone, looking up to roll his eyes at Miguel after reading his text, replying soundlessly.

Perhaps.

Their usual, playful banter ensued from there on, managing to go avoid Ludwig’s ever so watchful eye, quite surprisingly; and this was precisely why Arthur wasn’t particularly relieved for the end of the meeting, oddly enough.

It wasn’t as if Arthur was suddenly going to lose the ability to communicate with Miguel at all, yet he didn’t know if he was loaded with work to do, had made plans or frankly wasn’t in the mood to talk with him, and all of those factors could easily make it difficult to get in touch with Miguel. It wasn’t because Arthur wanted to see Miguel or be with him that made him upset.

Or, maybe it was.

There was no denying it to himself, Arthur knew this. He dearly missed Miguel, no matter how many times they may talk over the phone or meet for lunch or dinner, it had been far too long since they had been able to spend some real, quality time together. It had been too long (in Arthur’s opinion, at least) since they’d curled up on the couch together, huddled under a warm blanket while watching a ridiculously cheesy movie, too long since Arthur had felt those strong arms around him, holding him close and lips-

Focus Arthur, the Brit scolded himself, doing his best to shake those wistful thoughts from his mind. Wishful thinking would do him no good for now, he knew what he would be walking into when he stepped into his hotel room.

What really seemed to be getting to Arthur was not solely the fact that he would very likely be without Miguel once again, but he would be alone. Now don’t get him wrong, he’d been alone all his life, if one was to really get down to it. Yes, he had colonies who used to adore him, he was a rather large empire, after all. But they had all grown and left him eventually, and once his empire faded into a single kingdom, he was truly alone. He’d coped with it and had come to appreciate the time he could take for himself, and he found a majority of the time he preferred to be alone. But, after what he’d witnessed this morning, he wasn’t sure it was entirely safe. He was a grown man yes, he could take care of himself in theory, but he had limits just as everyone else, and today they had been pushed. While Miguel had done an exceptional job at keeping him in his right mind during the meeting with his antics, it didn’t erase a fraction of the pain he felt from seeing his two greatest adversaries together like they’d never been before. His heart was still heavy, weighing him down like an anchor to a ship, and he knew it would only sink deeper into the sea of destructive emotions the moment he felt safe enough to let it fall.

Arthur wanted to have someone with him to make sure that anchor didn’t remain permanently bound to the ocean floor, needed someone to be able to hoist it back up to safety again. There was only one person who he would allow to do so, and that person was without a doubt, Miguel. 

So, remaining weary he rose from his seat with his papers stacked neatly in hand, bidding Alfred a goodbye and carefully sifting through the crowd of nations to meet Miguel at his seat.

“Just can’t stay away from me, can you, amar?” Asked Miguel in a smug tone of voice, shooting Arthur a wink to accompany his smirk.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, wanker,” Arthur countered with an equally smug eye roll, then proceeding to turn on his heels and begin to approach the double doors of the conference room, acting as if Miguel’s statement was untrue. Which, in all honesty, it wasn’t. If Miguel was in the room, one could expect to find Arthur right there next to him.

“Don’t lie,” Miguel replied as he gathered his things and followed Arthur towards the door, seeing straight through Arthur’s cover up. What a cutie, he was.

Arthur didn’t bother to object to Miguel’s statement, it would be a pointless argument he would lose in an instant, and frankly, he was still nervous that he would be left alone after this.

“Whatever,” he simply said, pushing the door open and holding it for Miguel, like the self-proclaimed gentleman that he is. “What are you doing after this?” Asked Arthur casually, really having nothing to be nervous about in regards to the question alone. Him and Miguel had been getting together for years, there was no point in being scared of asking him to spend some time with him anymore.

“I didn’t have anything planned. Why, are you finally going to put an end to my bed’s whining?” Miguel asked, shooting Arthur yet another suggestive smirk, letting the door swing shut behind him. “It really misses you, you know,” he said, to which Arthur let out an exasperated groan.

“Perhaps if it’s ‘whining’ so much, you should do a better job of getting me into it,” he shot back, earning a pout from the brunette. 

“And you call yourself a gentleman,” Miguel murmured, only to shake off his mock offense and replaced it with a smaller smile. “You’re welcome to come over, I could always drop you off at the hotel later,” he then offered, not too keen on leaving Arthur alone. He could tell something was still off, even if he had managed to put him in a better mood on the outside, he couldn’t erase the pain that was lying on the inside of Arthur, and he wanted to help him, not let him suffer.

Arthur released an audible breath of relief at Miguel’s offer and nodded, thankful he wouldn’t have to be alone or the next few hours.

They arrived at Miguel’s house less than half an hour later, a beautiful home just a half a mile away from the beaches of the coastline. He had an affinity for Miguel’s house, he’d noticed, perhaps from the amount of time he had spent there over the years; quite a large amount of time, if he was being honest.

Miguel had stepped through the doorway first, making sure to hold it open for the other as he tilted his head, gesturing for him to come in. Arthur nodded to Miguel as he stepped past him and into the gorgeous coastal home, inhaling the all too familiar scent that wafted throughout the air that passed through beautifully decorated walls. Arthur would never tire of visiting this place, he’d spent many days and nights here, with Miguel and alone, it was almost a second home to him, outside of the UK, that is.

It was amazing to think how comforting a simple scent could be, the familiarity of it setting Arthur at ease and calming his nerves with only one inhale. There was something oceanic about it, given that the house lay on the coast, yet not lacking the presence of coffee beans, presumably from Miguel’s love of the beverage, along with a more natural scent, one that might remind a person of the trees that lined Portugal with their stunning green color. It was simple, but it suited Miguel and his country quite well, and Arthur had grown attached, he must admit.

The pair set their small bags on the floor against a small space of open wall next to the front door, which Miguel had pushed close as he bent down.

“Tea?” Asked the brunette simply as he stood to face Arthur, positive it would help to lift his spirits.

“If it’s not too much trouble for a coffee lover like yourself,” Arthur replied, his polite tone not suiting his teasing words in the slightest. He did have to maintain a gentlemanly attitude, he thought, even if it didn’t quite make sense.

“You know I always have tea for you amar,” Miguel said with an amused roll of his eyes, turning on his heel to head for his kitchen and gesturing for Arthur to take a seat. “Just like I know you have coffee for me,” he added, the smirk he wore evident in his voice.

“Whatever,” was Arthur’s repetitive response, a typical one of his that he often used when flustered, which wasn’t a rare occurrence.

He took a seat on the couch that was just as familiar as the aroma of the home, leaning back against the plush cushions and making himself comfortable, not so patiently waiting for Miguel to return from the other room. Yes, the other room. That was where he was, only a few meters off. Arthur wasn’t alone, he told himself, he really wasn’t.

Then why did he feel so alone?

Arthur had come here because he needed Miguel to be with him when the inevitable time came for him to break down into helpless tears, and at the moment he wasn’t here. Not close enough, thought Arthur. This was stupid. He wasn’t alone. There was no reason to be so scared all of the sudden. This was a familiar house, a comforting room with a calming scent, yet not a close friend.

Arthur, he thought to himself, Miguel is only in the next room, relax.

Perhaps, his heart had sunk to the depths without him truly feeling it, being too distracted with putting up with Miguel to have noticed how far he had fallen. He needed Miguel right here, right now, he needed his warm arms around him and a sturdy chest to hide within, a heartbeat to listen to and soft breaths to feel. He needed protection from the burning tears that had begun to sting in his eyes, welling up with every thought of his brother and that damned Frenchman swirling around his head. He had yet to notice how he had sat up straight in his subtle moment of panic, how his head had fallen into his hands and how short his breathing had become.

Luckily enough for him, time seemed to fly when one could barely figure out their own thoughts, and within minutes Miguel was rounding the corner separating the kitchen from the living room, shoulders falling in concern the very moment he laid eyes on Arthur. The poor Brit was sat at the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees and hands covering his face in a stressful manner.

“Arthur?” Miguel asked with a cautious voice, quickly making his way around the back of the couch and taking a seat next to Arthur carefully, setting the drinks on the table for later.

Arthur should have relaxed, his tense body should have melted into Miguel’s arms comfortably and his breathing should have evened out, but none of it happened.

“Why did they…?” Was all Arthur could say, his hands slowly sliding down his face and coming to rest near his lips as he turned towards Miguel, eyes pleading and shining with the tears they both knew would be coming. The look filled Miguel with not just sympathy, but a burning desire to help the poor Brit, to shush him and remind him he could make it through this, to help him.

“Alright, come here,” Miguel said gently, opening his arms invitingly to Arthur and watching with pity as the Brit covered his face once more, leaning back towards Miguel and pressing his concealed face into his shoulder. The brunette carefully enveloped Arthur in strong arms, rubbing his back in small circles in an attempt to comfort him, yet it only seemed to increase his pain.

“I-I don’t…” Arthur tried to speak, but found he couldn’t quite get his words out properly, voice wavering and throat straining with the effort of holding back tears. As much as he trusted Miguel, he was still weary of appearing this vulnerable and was too prideful, even in this state, to look so weak. He hated feeling like this, like the world was crumbling down around him and he was helpless. Depending on others wasn’t a talent of his nor something he loved, so when he had no other choice he couldn’t stand it at all. But Miguel- Miguel made it bearable. Miguel made it seem like it was okay to cry, it was okay to ask someone for help and be provided with a shoulder to cry on. No one else had ever given him that comfort, and while that should have reminded him of just how dear Miguel was to his heart, it was also a startling blow. No one. No one.

Not the man he’d known longer than anyone else.

Not his own brother.

It was with this realization that the first tear of his was shed, and with it came a flood, pouring from the ocean of emotions within his heart, revealing the depths of his pain and how deep the current flowed. Miguel sensed it easily, not needed to see Arthur’s face or hear his uneven breathing, he could simply feel it. He gently raised a hand to Arthur’s soft, unkempt locks of blonde hair, slowly and gently carding his fingers through the silky strands in a gesture that almost worked like magic, tending to sooth Arthur when he needed it most.

While it’s magical effect didn’t seem to have much of an impact this time around outwardly, it put Arthur far more at ease with openly crying, Miguel unknowingly telling him it was okay to be weak, it was okay to have vulnerabilities, and Miguel wouldn’t take advantage of it nor judge him for it. That meant more to Arthur than him suddenly ridding him of his tears, for when he stopped judging himself for it, he found it was far easier to cope with his emotions when he accepted having them in the first place.

“I-I just…it hurts,” Arthur whimpered, voice shaking from the strain of the sobs that had begun building up in his throat, dangerously close to escaping. “My own b-brother prefers m-my enemy to me,” he said, his words hurting him far more than his own thoughts. It was one thing to recognize it, another to say it out loud and hear the words spoken. It felt like a knife wound, straight to his heart, piercing through flesh and tearing him apart. With those words spoken one of his hands slipped off his face and gripped the fabric of Miguel’s shirt, needing something to hold on to and something to remind himself that Miguel was there, he had him. It was his arms around him, not his own.

Miguel had understood why Arthur was so distraught before the meeting had even started, but to hear it put that way- he couldn’t tell whether his blood was boiling or his heart was sinking, both on Arthur’s behalf. Allistor. Suddenly, the name sounded like a forbidden word, one associated with evil, horrid things that should never be given a voice. He didn’t like that name, nor did he appreciate the face that came along with it. No matter what history he might have had with Allistor, he was the cause of this, he was the reason Arthur was here, crying in his arms. He knew better than most that Arthur wasn’t a pure angel who hadn’t done a thing to deserve this, but it didn’t prevent him from wanting to tear Allistor to pieces, physically or emotionally, he didn’t have a preference. At the same time, he wanted to cradle Arthur in his arms like he was now, whispering caring words and reassuring phrases to remind him how strong he was, that he’d survived worse and he was here. Seeing that the former wasn’t a current option, he continued to hold Arthur, letting him give a voice to his suppressed emotions that needed to be heard.

“Of course he prefers Francis- who doesn’t?” Was Arthur’s next question, his voice a bit stronger, slightly angrier, more passionate. “Oh Francis is so perfect, Francis has never done anything wrong, he’s romantic, the country of love, Francis, Francis, Francis,” he rambled on, hiccups and sniffles interrupting his speech every couple of words nonetheless. “But why…why my brother?” He then added, Miguel being taken aback at the sudden change in tone, how quiet and feeble this voice sounded.

“I don’t know,” he murmured in return, gently nuzzling his nose into Arthur’s hair, feeling his shoulders begin to convulse and he knew sobs were quickly approaching.

“I wish I hadn’t been so horrible to him, maybe- maybe things w-would be different b-between us,” Arthur mused, voice ridden with guilt and plain loneliness, longing for a brother. A true brother, not just a man related to him, but an honest brother. One that stood up for him, defended him, put his arm around his shoulders and teased him, someone who genuinely cared about him and for him. But Arthur didn’t have that, oh no. Instead, he had Allistor. Someone who resented him from the very moment he became a kingdom, and earned the same in return. Someone he’d fought with, abused, took advantage of, controlled. He didn’t’ blame Allistor for wanting to breaking away from the United Kingdom, he didn’t blame him for resenting him, nor would he if he held a grudge until the end- but it didn’t ease the pain, nor the longing for a real brother. “I-I’m sure he loves Francis. He loves h-him for the hell h-he’s put me through,” he said, feeling Miguel softly squeeze him in a comforting response. Perhaps this was his real problem with the relationship. It was a harsh reminder that not only did Allistor not give a damn about his little brother, but he would much prefer spending time with said brother’s mortal enemy, the one man who made him feel like he was of no value to the world, a waste of space. “He l-loves…he loves F-Francis more than m-me,” he finally whimpered, that being his breaking point. If his heart had been broken before, it was shattered with his own words. Sometimes, hearing things aloud hit harder than listening to a voice in your head, and this was a sure fire example of that.

Arthur was unspeakably jealous of Francis, as previously mentioned. Everyone loved him, he was worshipped all around the world for his food, for his language, his culture, his appearance, the love he held within himself and how beautifully he could display it. Arthur was looked down on. He was, as Francis said, the black sheep of Europe. He was made fun of for his eyebrows, his cooking, his snobby accent, his stuck up behavior, his sailor mouth, his stubbornness and arrogance and pride, his history, everything.

Now don’t get him wrong, Arthur didn’t want to be Francis. He just wanted to be recognized more like Francis. He wanted to people to look up to him not down, he wanted people to praise him rather than dissent him, and not for the sake of his own ego, but for his self-worth. He didn’t want to constantly be the country causing trouble, the one whom everyone rolled their eyes at for being so stuck up and expecting so much. He wanted to be liked; even if he wasn’t worshipped or loved, a good reputation would be enough. Francis had that. A lot of countries had that, but no one rubbed it in so much as Francis did. Arthur resented him most of all because of their history, and so, to see his brother, whom he truly wished he had a better relationship with, fawning over the one person who sent Arthur into a black hole of depression, was more painful than anything he’d experienced. Hell, it gave losing Alfred a bit of competition for the worst day of his life, and that was saying something, considering how much he missed the boy.

At this point he was so wrapped up in his thoughts, his self-hatred, the jealousy and the longing that he hardly recognized he was bawling, sobbing into Miguel’s shoulder, and gripping him tight. He didn’t want to be hated. He didn’t want to be compared to Francis. He didn’t want to be inferior to him. He didn’t want those two teaming up against him. He didn’t want them to remind him of how useless he was, how little they cared, or how little everyone cared, really. He wanted his brother. That, he wanted most of all.

Arthur failed to notice the kiss that had been placed on his head, the hand in his hair, the arm around him that kept him close, the one person who really did care.

Miguel hadn’t once regretted inviting Arthur over, contrary to what the other might be thinking. This wasn’t a nuisance to him, nor was it inconvenient. It was sad, it was horrible for him to watch, but he did. He did because he loved Arthur, in more ways than one; in so many different ways that he could barely put a name to each one of them. It hurt him greatly to see Arthur so distraught and broken, looking so lonely and in need of someone, but that was the sole reason he was still here. Arthur deserved someone who cared about him, loved him, wanted him. It was why Miguel felt so responsible for keeping him safe and warm- he had no one else to do it. His brothers, all three of them had abandoned him, whether it was their fault or not, they had never come back. Miguel was the only one Arthur truly had to sit with him during times like this, hold him and care for him and love him. If no one else was willing to do it, he would keep Arthur close until he took his last breath, that he’d sworn to himself long ago, and so far he had yet to break his promise- something he didn’t ever plan on doing.

Because of this, Miguel held Arthur until he had no more tears to cry; shushing him when his sobs became especially loud, holding his hand when his grip got worryingly tight, squeezing him softly ever now and again to remind him he was there, and eventually, his sobs decreased. It took a while, perhaps an abnormally large amount of time, but they did quiet. They gradually became small whimpers, sniffs and tiny hiccups that would have been considered beyond adorable by Miguel, had Arthur not been in so much pain. Soon those whimpers simply faded into shaky inhales, and those into deep breaths. Arthur’s form had slowly begun to relax, slouching against Miguel’s chest, their bodies an oddly perfect fit.

Arthur had been doing his best to focus on the warmth that surrounded him, the familiar and comforting scent that radiated from Miguel, the strong and inviting arms around him, the gentle sound of Miguel’s breathing and the sturdy beating of his heart, all among his most favorite of things. Having Miguel there helped tremendously, reminding Arthur that even if this wasn’t his brother, someone did still care, there was still someone willing to sit through this with him and provide him the care he needed to breathe. In meant an unspeakable amount to Arthur, something he wished he knew how to voice, or rather, possessed the confidence to voice.

Thankfully for him, Miguel was the first to speak.

“Are you going to be alright, meu querido?” He asked in a soft voice, one much gentler than the voice most nations heard from him.

“I think so,” Arthur nodded, wanting to tell Miguel that he would be as long as they stayed like this, but unable to work up both the courage and the ability to get over how utterly cheesy those words would sound. Yet, he did need to thank him, he couldn’t go to sleep tonight knowing he hadn’t told Miguel how much every gesture and every touch he received meant to him. “Thank you,” he said a bit suddenly, blurting out the words before his mind had a chance to catch up with the betrayal of his tongue. “F-For this, it really- “

“Shh, amar,” Miguel shushed him before he could finished, placing a gentle finger over his lips and smiling as delicately as his touch. “There’s no need to thank me, it’s what I’m here for,” he said, tracing his finger over the soft curve of Arthur’s round lips, slowly lowering it to Arthur’s hand that lay pressed against his chest, tenderly setting his own over the smaller’s and holding it over his own heart.

“I don’t think you understand how much it means, love,” Arthur said, pausing briefly to let his eyes fall down to their connected hands on Miguel’s chest, his heart softening at the caring gesture, silently wishing this could be how it always was between them. The physical contact wasn’t out of the ordinary, but it was the emotions behind them, the devotion to each other and love they shared that would never disappear. It was more apparent in this small gesture, the protective hold Miguel had enveloped in, the warmth in his voice, it all added up to create something the both of them missed, a relationship they hadn’t shared for centuries.

“I think I have a pretty good idea,” Miguel said with a warm chuckle, his head tilting downwards towards Arthur’s, their foreheads now resting together.

Brilliant green eyes met an equally vibrant shade to mimic their own, the only other pair of eyes that could rival their vibrancy. Both pairs flickered down to round, pink lips, only to meet again in a brief second, sharing an intense gaze only those eyes could hope to hold. No words were needed, no signals nor gestures or hints, two minds were so in sync and too hearts so connected that nothing was needed to give the owners of those eyes a push towards each other, moving in unison until their lips connected.

There were no fireworks exploding in either one’s mind, no bursting of the hearts or ringing of the ears. The moment was as anticipated as it was gentle, as predictable as it was loving. While both had to admit to their own nerves, there was no fear. Rejection wasn’t a word Miguel or Arthur would ever direct towards each other, resentment or disgust not emotions they could ever feel in regards to one another. 

They had been hopelessly in love for years, even after their mutual split the bond never broke, the love never disappeared. It had dwindled, yes, but it had only melted into a friendship stronger than any, a companionship no one could ever break. But it had been rekindled, the flame igniting within both their hearts some time ago, and it hadn’t been until now that they had realized how much they missed each other, and the intimacy they used to share.

These thoughts and feelings were given a voice by the kiss, one which was so warm and caring that any other person would have melted upon receiving it. Miguel was treating Arthur with utmost respect and care, silently reminding him that he would always be there by his side, even if and when the world turned against him. With an arm around the blonde’s shoulders and a hand slowly traveling up to his cheek he held him in a close embrace, to which the other felt safe and secure in, a place he finally felt loved, something he was horribly and pitifully in need of.

As their lips parted from one another, a breathy laugh was shared between the two, a smile finally coming to spread itself across Arthur’s lips.

“I missed that,” Miguel murmured, a small, happy smile adorning his handsome features as he gazed at Arthur, who had nodded in return.

“I can’t disagree with that,” Arthur replied, leaning towards the taller once again and placing a feather light, brief kiss on his lips, simply because he could. The other didn’t seem to hold any objections to it, understandably, and opted for allowing the hand on Arthur’s cheek to rest on the small of his back, wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer to his chest.

“I never stopped loving you,” Miguel whispered into the crook of Arthur’s neck, feeling the Brit’s arms slighter around his torso, holding him lovingly.

“Nor have I,” he said, voice dripping with affection for the Portuguese man who held him, thankful for the warmth he provided and reassurance he was so willing to give.

“It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”

“Far too long.” 

Later that night, there was no dropping Arthur off at the hotel, there was only the two of them, only the sound of their voices mixing with the evening ocean breeze as they talked of the times they had last been like this, stories of what had happened in the time between now and when they had last seen each other, and discussed in a more understandable manner what had occurred this morning.

The fact of the matter was; Arthur was still in pain. His heart was still torn over the jealousy and the fear, the guilt and the sadness. Miguel hadn’t wished his problems away, nor had he hugged the negative thoughts from his mind, stole them from his heart with a kiss. No one could do that so easily, only time had the power to give Arthur the ability to cope with his devastation, and time was what he would need. Yet, Miguel’s comforting words and loving touches hadn’t fallen upon deaf ears or blind eyes, they sparked an incentive.

So, when they lay in bed hours later, when the sky had fallen dark and the stars and moon illuminated the blue waters of the Atlantic, Arthur realized what Miguel had given him. He’d given him a light at the end of the tunnel, a reason to move on. He was the good that would come out of this tragedy, the happy ending to an otherwise sad story. He gave Arthur a desire to overcome this obstacle, he was a promise of good things to come.

With his head on Miguel’s strong chest, his comforting scent and cozy warmth surrounding him and enveloping him in love the sheets of the bed couldn’t give him, Arthur could finally fall asleep with the knowledge that he had a something to work for.

Miguel had given him motivation to overcome this.

Miguel had given him the strength to execute it.

Miguel had given him something others could only take away.

Miguel, had given him love.


End file.
